


get a room like no one else

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Rape, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26153581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dirk wants his brother and his brother's boyfriend, but he's not prepared for what that means.
Relationships: Dirk's Bro | Alpha Dave Strider/Dirk Strider, Jake English/Dirk's Bro | Alpha Dave Strider, Jake English/Dirk's Bro | Alpha Dave Strider/Dirk Strider
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	get a room like no one else

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Damien Rice's "Woman Like A Man." Full CW (I didn't want to clog the tags up too much) in the end notes, please check it out if you need it. 
> 
> This fic takes place in a very self-indulgent Alpha universe of mine, in which Dave is 32, Jake is 40, and they are dating. Dave is his classic movie producer self, and he is raising 17 year old Dirk, who is his younger brother. Enjoy!

There’s a dead turtle in the driveway when Dirk gets home. 

He crouches down to look at it, sneakers scuffing against the hot pavement, one hand reaching out and hovering over the split shell, the intestines spilling out, the blood underneath it all. He wonders, briefly, if it’s fake. A prank placed by Dave or even Jake, although with them, it’s more likely to be real.

Dirk touches the shell, right along one of the spots where it’s fractured. It feels like nothing. It’s probably not a prank. It’s not like his reaction is or had any chance of being entertaining. It’s just strange, seeing a turtle in the center of Houston. But his life is strange enough. Maybe it’s just a romantic overture from one of Dave’s fans.

Dirk stands back up, legs momentarily unsteady and sweaty in his tight black jeans, and heads over to the shed out by the side of their house. The air inside is dusty, smells of decay and disuse and just a hint of Jake’s over-applied cologne, since he’s the only that comes in here. Dirk pauses for a moment to breathe it in, then shakes his head a little and grabs a shovel. 

Back out in the sun, he carefully slides the shovel under the turtle, viscera, surrounding ants, and all, and lifts it just long enough to toss it into the grass. It lands silently. Dirk carries the shovel back to the shed and hangs it up still bloody.

He grabs a watering can next and walks over to the other side of the house, where the hose sits. The water takes a moment to spit out of the mouth of the hose and several more moments to fill the can, and Dirk leans against the hot brick of the house as he waits. Jake’s car is in the driveway, like it always is these days. It’s late enough in the afternoon that he’ll be staying for dinner, which means that he’ll be staying overnight. Dirk’s not sure why he hasn’t just moved in yet.

The sound of water dripping onto the pavement lets Dirk know that the watering can is overflowing, and he moves to shut off the hose without any real urgency. He carries the can back to the spot where the turtle was and pours the water over the chunky, coagulated blood. It doesn’t wash away. The can empties.

Dirk sighs to himself, wishes idly for a cigarette to stub out against his thigh, and returns the watering can to its spot in the shed. The sun beats down on his back until the front door closes behind him, and his sneakers thump against the wall when he kicks them off.

“Hey,” he says. “Who ran over the turtle?”

Jake, who’s sitting on the couch with his arm around Dave and his feet - still in his eternally muddy boots, Dirk notes with a mixture of annoyance and endearment - turns his head to face Dirk. “What turtle?”

“The one in the driveway,” Dirk says. “Dead. Crushed by a car, or maybe a turtle axe murderer, I guess.”   


“Dave, darling, I think we’ve found your next franchise,” Jake says delightedly. “Turtle axe murderers.”

Dave, who’s lying on the couch with his head on Jake’s shoulder, snorts. “Jake, how many times have I told you that I’m not going to take your movie ideas? Not that they’re not great, but I’ve got-”

“A brand to uphold, yes, you’ve mentioned,” Jake finishes. “But anyway, Dirk, I suppose it might’ve been me, but I can’t say for sure.”   
  
Dirk shrugs as he drops himself onto the couch, close enough to Jake that the older man has to scoot away so that their thighs don’t touch. “Doesn’t matter,” he says.

“Is it still there?” Dave asks.

“Nah, I threw it into the grass. Still a bloody spot, though.”

“Hm,” Dave says. “Do you think I could go stick it in a jar?”   


“It’s not really intact,” Dirk says, at the exact same moment that Jake says, “Why not?”   


Dave lifts his head up enough to shoot Dirk a look, one that clearly, even with his ubiquitous shades, says,  _ I wasn’t talking to you, dude. _ “I might go pick it up later, then,” he says, “but I should probably wait, don’t want any paparazzi thinkin’ I’m turning into some turtle necrophile. Although these days that might actually help publicity.”

Dirk rolls his eyes so that they don’t dart to the strip of skin exposed between Dave’s shirt and sweatpants when he stretches. “If you want a sex scandal, there’s probably a better way to get one than with a turtle.” And then, because he’s a shit that doesn’t know how to control himself, he reaches out and walks his fingers as far down Dave’s chest as he can reach without sitting all the way up. It’s not far, but it gets the point across. 

Dave swats his hand away as he starts to walk his fingers back up, giving Dirk another look before turning to face Jake, you know, his  _ boyfriend. _ “You wanna have a sex scandal? Get your ass out on the red carpet, all, ‘Mr. English, who are you wearing?’ and they’re expecting you to say Eddie Bauer or some shit again, but boom, there go your pants, and you’re like, Mr. Strider, and then you pull me over and -”

“Hot,” Dirk interrupts, just dryly enough to pass it off as a joke if he needs to. He knows exactly where that line is now, after months and months of this stupid fucking routine. 

It started, cliche of cliches, when Dirk came home from hanging out with Roxy early and heard Dave and Jake going at it in Dave’s room. He stood outside of the door with his hand down his pants and came gasping into his hand to the rhythm of the headboard thumping. He’d known he felt less than familial things toward Dave before then, but that was the first time he’d let himself acknowledge it. And of course, it threw Jake right into the mix too.

Dirk is still trying to figure Jake out. He’s older than Dave by about eight years, and despite what Dave insists in nearly every interview, he’s pretty sure that Jake doesn’t actually “get” Dave’s movies. He tracks dirt on the red carpet when Dave brings him to premieres, he says his favorite movie of all time is  _ Avatar  _ while he has Dave fucking Strider on his arm, and he both makes Dirk insanely jealous and insanely horny. He’s got that buff, hairy bear thing that drives Dirk crazy, all deep belly laughs - and moans - and thick, scratchy beard, and he can pick Dave up like he’s nothing. 

And he makes Dave happy. Dave takes his shades off for Jake, and he laughs his weird, nasally laugh around Jake instead of his fake public chuckle, and they’re so disgustingly perfect for each other that it makes Dirk sick and soaking wet.

He tries. He flirts with Dave until he’s toeing the line of plausible deniability, and lately, he’s been trying to bring Jake into the fold, since that line is a little further out. But they always brush him off, treat him like the weird kid - he’s seventeen, thank you very fucking much - brother, and he gets it but he also swears that he’s seen them  _ look _ at him. Like when he’s walking back from the shower in a towel and Dave catches his eye from the living room for only a moment, or when he’s crouching down to pick the remote off the floor and Jake’s eyes are on him when he turns back around. They’re little moments, small and short enough that Dirk knows he could be making them up. But he knows he isn’t.

“Dirk,” Dave says.

“Dave?” Dirk says, as innocently as he can manage. There’s a speck of blood on his finger when he pulls it back to his lap. It’s probably from the turtle, but he’s not sure how it got there.

“Well, as tempting as all that sounds, I do try to maintain some decorum out there,” Jake says. The words fall awkwardly into the room, like he knows the train that he’s forcing back onto the tracks a little too well. 

Dirk lets his hand loose again, letting it fall onto Jake’s shoulder and sit there with just enough pressure for it to be impossible for Jake to ignore. Jake’s eyes immediately dart to it, but he doesn’t shake it off until Dirk says, “Aw, you’d really deprive the world of your ass like that?”

Jake gives him a tight-lipped frown as he readjusts his shoulder. “I hardly think that’s appropriate, Dirk.”

“Yeah, well.” Dirk shrugs and swings his feet up to lay them across both Jake and Dave’s laps. 

“Dirk,” Dave says again. “Stop being an ass.”

Dirk looks down at his hands and flicks off the speck of blood. It goes flying somewhere into the carpet beyond the coffee table. “I’m being an ass?”

“Jake is a guest,” Dave says firmly.   
  
“Dave-” Jake starts.

“No, Dirk shouldn’t be able to treat you however he wants,” Dave says. He’s never quite mastered the art of authority, but Dirk will admit that his attempt is cute. He figures that’s part of why he’s like this - the lack of authority. But there’s not really any use in psycho-analyzing himself. 

Instead, Dirk just laughs. “If I treated him however I wanted, things would be a little… different.”

“Now, gents, let’s not forget that ‘he’s’ in the room,” Jake cuts in, just as Dave looks like he’s starting to actually get mad. “I’ve dealt with plenty of unruly teens in my day, my dear, I can handle this.”

Part of Dirk wants to be angry about being reduced to an “unruly teen.” Honestly, he only counts himself as a teen in years, and even then, barely so. He graduated high school two years early and has been taking gap years until he’s the traditional age for college, Dave’s let him drink since he was thirteen, and his brotherdad aside, he does pretty much whatever the fuck he wants. A much larger part of Dirk, though, is just stupidly turned on.

“Can you?” he challenges, sitting up and leaning in close to Jake’s face. His hand finds its way back to Jake’s shoulder, and one of his feet skids along Dave’s thigh for balance. 

“Let’s go make dinner, Jake,” Dave says. “C’mon.”

“Uh, right-o,” Jake says, taking the hand that Dave offers him, and they both slide out from under Dirk’s legs with much more ease than he would’ve preferred. 

Dirk flops back onto the couch as they disappear into the kitchen and huffs out a sigh. He knows that he lives in a house built off of not saying things directly, but the avoidance gets under his skin. He’s seen them look at him, he knows they’ve seen him look at them. It doesn’t have to be rocket science, and yet, here they are.

Dirk sighs again and is about to slink into the kitchen when he hears the door to it click shut. That’s… strange. Feeling like he’s balancing on two edges of a broken shell, Dirk slides off of the couch and over to the door between the living room and the kitchen, pressing his ear to it like he’s Rose fucking Tyler and straining to hear the murmured voices over the sounds of the stove and sink.

“-you saying?” That’s Jake. “He’s a kid, Dave.”

Dirk bristles, but he forces himself to stay still. From the kitchen, there’s a soft clatter, a spatula falling to the counter or walls coming down. “Dirk’s not…” Dave starts, the rest of his sentence disappearing down into an inaudible murmur. There’s a beat, then Dave laughs. “And don’t act like I haven’t seen your search history.”

“ _ David.”  _ Jake again, loud and scandalized. The nerves running between Dirk’s brain and heart trip, stutter. Quieter, but still not having mastered the art of an “indoor voice,” Jake adds, “That’s your son.”

“Brother,” Dave amends. “Brotherson. Whatever.”

Dirk presses closer to the door. His entire chest is pounding. Is this it? The AC is blasting, but he swears he feels a bead of sweat forming at the base of his neck. He knows there’s probably another context, that he can’t have been so lucky as to -

“And he can stop eavesdropping now,” Dave says. It takes a moment for Dirk to realize that Dave’s voice is so much louder because he’s standing right in front of Dirk, the door opened and a tight frown on his face. “Don’t make me tell you to go to your room, kid.”

“Not a kid,” Dirk retorts. “What were you guys talking about? Couldn’t quite make out. It out, I mean.”

Back by the stove, eyes focused on the pot of pasta he’s stirring, Jake’s cheeks flush. Dirk smirks. Dave crosses his arms. “None of your business.”

“Even though I heard my name?” Dirk asks. “It sounds good in your mouth, by the way.”

Dave glances back towards Jake, like he’s looking for moral support. Jake doesn’t look up from the pasta. Dirk’s smirk widens. “Dirk, how many times do I have to talk to you about this shit?”   
  
Dirk can’t help it - he laughs, because if he doesn’t, he might start to think that he’s been misreading the signals and then he’ll have to pack his bags and move in with Roxy by the end of the night. “Did I overhear y’all planning an intervention?”   


“Go to your room, Dirk.”

Dirk moves forward to lean against the doorway and can’t decide whether he feels powerful or disappointed when Dave takes a small step back. He tosses his head back towards Jake. “You gonna meet me there?”   
  
“Dirk.”

Dirk glances back at Dave. They’re almost the same height, but the few inches that Dave is stubbornly holding over him make him shiver, especially when Dave is looking at him like this, face carefully still and posture reminding Dirk that he goes to the gym pretty fucking regularly. “Fine,” he says, “fine, fine. Let me know when dinner’s ready, and, oh, feel free to eavesdrop on me if you guys want. I’ll put on a show for ya.”

Dave shuts the door in his face. Dirk waits for a moment to see if the conversation will start up again, but the radio cuts on and drowns out any hope he had of hearing them talk. Feeling a bit triumphant despite himself, Dirk heads back into the living room and drops onto the couch.

He doesn’t actually jerk off, mostly because he has some standards and the paparazzi are getting a little too good at getting onto their property. Instead, he just lies on the couch, stares up at the ceiling, and plans his next move until Jake pokes his head into the room and says, “Dinner’s on the table, chum.”

“Cool,” Dirk says. He pushes himself up from the couch and makes it to the kitchen table without incident. Dave eyes him warily as they all dig into the spaghetti, but Dirk is quiet. Something about the pasta on his plate reminds him of the intestines of the turtle, spilled out on the sidewalk, and he can’t figure out why he can’t get the stupid thing out of his head. 

“Is it okay?” Jake asks. “I’ll admit, cooking’s certainly not my forte, but I did think it was a bit tricky to bungle this one up.”

“Nah, it’s just - looks like the turtle,” Dirk explains. 

Dave looks up at Dirk. There’s a bit of sauce in his stubble, and Dirk is an impulsive neuron away from leaning over to lick it off when Jake swipes at it with a napkin. “Thanks,” Dave says, kissing Jake on the cheek. Fucking saps. “Turtle?”

Dirk resolutely tells himself that he’s not  _ jealous _ of the way that Jake has Dave’s attention or anything, okay, it’s just  _ annoying.  _ And he wants their attention to be on him until he feels like they’re consuming him, but that’s a thought better suited for writing than the dinner table. “The - nevermind. Hey, Jake, why haven’t you moved in yet?”

Jake splutters. “Excuse me?”   
  
“You practically live here already, why haven’t you made it official yet?”   
  
Dave frowns, and he momentarily looks so tired that Dirk would almost feel bad for pushing him like this if it wasn’t for the conversation he’d just overheard. “Maybe he prefers to not get harassed by a seventeen year old every waking moment of his goddamn life, Dirk, jeez. Contrary to whatever goes on in your head, some people like to chill out and enjoy life without constant mind games.”   


“Boring people,” Dirk says. He tilts his head down just enough for his eyes to be visible over the top of his shades and winks at Jake. “I think it’s because it’s hard enough to resist me as it is.”

“Or maybe it’s because your - Dave and I haven’t had that conversation yet,” Jake says sternly. He’s a lot better at sounding strict than Dave is, but something about his accent nullifies most of the effect. It’s hot either way.

Dirk snorts. “Were you about to call him my dad? Holy shit, hang on, was that search history Dave mentioned stepfather stuff? ‘No, your father and I haven’t had that conversation yet, sport. Here, come over and sit on my lap and -’”

“I have a premiere next week,” Dave interrupts. Jake’s face is very, very flushed. Dirk grins. “Well, not mine, obviously, but I got invited to it. They sent me a goddamn invitation in the  _ mail  _ like it’s a wedding or something, which honestly, I might have to try something like that for my next event. All, oh, you’re cordially invited to the union of the world and Sweept Bro and Hella Jeff, my completely non-licensed broom-themed spin-off film, the gift registry is at Kohls.com, oh, fuck yeah.”

Dave keeps rambling about his increasingly elaborate invite plan, and Dirk graciously lets him have the subject change. It couldn’t have been less smooth, but there’s something gratifying in knowing that he made Dave that desperate. 

So Dirk sits quietly, lying in wait - the mongoose under the house, the turtle under the tires - until Dave and Jake’s conversation tapers off and the plates are cleared and Dave asks, “Jake, you wanna watch a movie?”

“As long as James Cameron wasn’t involved in it,” Dirk answers. He’s expecting Dave or maybe even Jake to chide him for responding when the question clearly wasn’t directed at him, but when he looks up, Dave’s shades are angled directly towards Jake. 

The look that passes between them is so brief that Dirk wonders if he might have imagined it, like a ripple on hot pavement or a glance in a hallway, but the way that Jake’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows is very much obvious. 

“You drive a hard bargain there, Mr. Strider,” Jake says. “Would some classic  _ Indiana Jones  _ adventures be more suitable to your tastes?”

Dirk lets himself smile. The atmosphere in the room has shifted to the left in an undefinable way, and Dirk is pretty sure that it’s a way he likes. He doesn’t want to let himself believe it, almost, but he can’t deny the hope that he might be finally getting his way. “Among other things,” he replies. He tosses a wink to Dave before standing up and following Jake into the living room.

Before Dave can sit down, Dirk drops himself onto the couch next to Jake, so close that their thighs are touching, their shoulders brushing when Dirk dramatically leans back under the weight of Dave’s frown. “What?” he says, giving Dave a very pointed onceover. “This seat has the best view in the house.”

“Move over, Dirk, you and your Tumblr lines can’t fit on that cushion with Jake’s ass,” Dave says. “And don’t you dare try moving onto his lap, you shit.”   
  
Dirk, who was most certainly about to move onto Jake’s lap, frowns. “They’re not from Tumblr, they’re witty.”

Dave drops down next to him with a defeated sigh. Dirk graciously allows him to keep the six inches of space he’s allotted for himself and instead focuses on getting his hand on Jake’s knee. It’s warm under his touch, bouncing slightly, stilling when Dirk’s hand squeezes. “So,” Dirk continues. “Are we watching a movie or are we acknowledging the sexual tension here?”   


“Dirk. I’m your brother and your guardian, you need to knock it off,” Dave says, but he doesn’t sound angry or defensive like he usually does. Instead, the words come out like they’re cautious, careful. When Dirk turns to face him, his face is completely unreadable.

Dirk inhales, exhales. Jake hasn’t shaken his hand off of his knee. The atmosphere shifts a few degrees further than the normal. “I don’t care about that,” Dirk finally says. 

Dave’s gaze tilts up slightly. This time, the look exchanged between him and Jake lasts for several beats. Dirk doesn’t realize that he’s holding his breath until Dave looks back down at him and it all comes out in a rush. 

“You don’t care,” Dave repeats slowly. A beat. “You can’t take some things back, Dirk.”

A hand - Jake’s, big and warm and firm - comes up to cover Dirk’s on its spot on Jake’s knee. His breath catches, his heart pounds. This just might be fucking  _ it.  _ “Does it look like I want to?” Dirk asks. 

His mouth is open to keep talking, to add some snarky comment about taking it, but the words disappear when Dave’s mouth lands on his. 

Dirk hates to admit it, but his brain shorts out for a moment. Like frayed wires in an overloaded outlet, Tony Hawk til two am with his legs tangled with Dave’s, like burnt popcorn because Dave has never figured out how long to leave it in the microwave for, like flash bulbs and headlines and Jake’s arms around his waist as his spine gives up. He should be surprised. He’s not. 

Dave pulls back just as Dirk’s brain kicks back online, brows slightly furrowed, but he just looks up at Jake. “You got him?” he asks. 

Dirk forces his thudding heart back down into his chest cavity and reaches up for Dave before Jake can answer. His hand lands on Dave’s shoulder, and Dirk pulls him down, down, until their lips and chests crash together. Dave makes a tiny sound, whimper the only word for it, and Dirk’s breath dissipates into the air. The arms around Dirk tighten, and Jake’s hands grip the hem of Dirk’s tank.

Dirk wonders if they know that this is his first kiss. Lack of experience doesn’t seem like an issue based off of Dave’s enthusiasm - and holy shit, holy  _ shit _ , Dave is kissing him - but something in his chest feels tight and overwhelmed from all of the sensation. But this is what he’s wanted for months, and he’s getting it, and he’s Dirk Strider, there’s nothing he can’t handle.

Dave pulls back as Dirk moves to nip at his bottom lip. He’s panting, and somewhere along the line, his hands have ended up on Dirk’s shoulders. “You realize this is fucked, right?”   


“This or me in roughly, uh, right now, please?” Dirk retorts. 

Dave huffs out something like a laugh, and Jake shifts. He’s hard against Dirk’s back, and Dirk can’t help but feel a rush of power as he pushes back into Jake and the older man groans. Fuck, he’s old enough to be Dirk’s  _ dad _ , and he’s running his calloused fingers over the delicate skin of Dirk’s stomach.

Dave’s hands fall from Dirk’s shoulders, down to his lap. “You wanna take his top off?” he asks Jake. 

“You think he’s all right and ready for that?” Jake says. His hand slides a little further upwards, teasing at the edge of Dirk’s binder. Dirk’s breath does something funny, something he’s not entirely sure he likes. He knows that Jake knows, it’s not much of a secret, but there’s something that feels vulnerable, dangerous, powerful in the implicit acknowledgement. “I’m pretty sure he just had his first kiss.”

Dirk’s cheeks flush. The embarrassment squirms in his chest, in his gut, and he can’t tell if he’s getting wet because of it, literally everything else, or some weighted combination of both. 

Dave cups Dirk’s chin in one hand, tilting it up just enough for Dirk to have to look at him, and lifts Dirk’s shades from his face with his other hand. “Really?” he asks. 

“Hard to settle for some teenager when you’ve been pining after a celebrity for months,” Dirk says. Without his shades and with his inexperience on display, he feels naked, open, like Dave and Jake are already dissecting him and holding each part of him up to the light. That’s fine. That’s hot, even, if Jake’s hands make up their mind about whether they’re skating up to Dirk’s chest or not. 

“You can-” he starts, but his words falter when Jake grabs his tank and tugs it up to his shoulders. Almost without thinking about it, Dirk lifts his arms, and his tank slips over his head, falls to the floor. He’s abruptly very grateful that he didn’t wear his ironic Rainbow Dash binder today. 

Dave hums under his breath. It sounds more like consideration than approval, and something in Dirk’s chest tightens, just a bit. “You can take his binder off too,” he tells Jake. 

Dirk opens his mouth. He’s not sure if he means to protest or to echo Dave, to give Jake permission, but he doesn’t get any sound out before Dave’s thumb has slipped from his chin to between his lips. Dirk goes still for just a moment before giving it an experimental suck. It tastes like sweat and skin. Dave snorts. “Yeah, what’d I tell you, Jake?” he says, pulling his hand away and letting it fall back to his side.

“If I recall correctly, my dear,  _ I  _ told  _ you _ that oral fixations run in the Strider family,” Jake says. 

“He said, he said,” Dave mutters. His hand tenses on Dirk’s chin for a moment, then lets go. 

Dirk rolls his eyes, unable to decide if he misses the contact or not. “I could’ve told you that.”

“Am I gonna be able to pull this thing off?” Jake asks. His fingers are abruptly at the bottom of Dirk’s binder. His callouses are rough against the sensitive, sweaty skin there, and Dirk shivers. 

Dave purses his lips for half a second. They’re redder than usual, a little swollen and a little shiny with spit, and Dirk catches his breath. Yeah. Yeah, okay. He wants this. Maybe Jake and Dave are still doing their “we’re adults, we’re going to banter without you,” thing, but that doesn’t make them any less hot. “Yeah,” he says. “Dirk can help if you need it, though. Shit’s tight.”

“No shit,” Dirk says. “Kinda the fucking point, y’know?” He sits up - should he be surprised when Jake’s hands slide back and let him? - and wrestles with the binder for a moment before tossing it to the ground. 

Dave hums again, that same considerate sound, and Dirk shivers. Dave’s gaze looks almost … predatory, with the shades, his eyes unreadable and Dirk only able to see his reflection in the mirrored plastic. 

“You alright there, Dirk?” Jake asks. His hands have slid back around Dirk’s torso almost without Dirk realizing, teasing at his ribs before reaching up and grabbing his tits. Dirk gasps. 

“Y-yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Dirk asks. 

Jake pinches one of Dirk’s nipples, and Dirk arches back against him. “I’m just worried you might be a little out of your depth,” he says. 

“I’m fine, thanks,” Dirk says, but that tight feeling is back in his chest. Jake… didn’t sound concerned, which normally wouldn’t be cause for concern, right, his condescension is almost hot, it just seems - not like Jake, to put it simply. Or at least not like the Jake that Dirk’s known. 

Dave reaches a hand out and rests it over Jake’s left hand, holding them both against Dirk’s chest, and smiles. It’s not a smile Dirk has ever seen on him before, not in the house and not in front of the cameras, and it feels dangerous. “Not bad,” he says, before leaning in to kiss Dirk again.    
  
Dirk melts up into Dave’s mouth, just a bit, his hands reaching up to fist in Dave’s shirt and tug him close. This he can do, this feels as safe as it gets, and when Dave slips his tongue into Dirk’s mouth, Dirk groans. 

Jake chuckles in his ear, tugs at his nipple again. The boner pressing against Dirk’s back hasn’t let up for a second. “Still got your feet on the ground there?”

Dirk breaks away from Dave and drops his head back onto Jake’s shoulder, gasping as he catches his breath, unable to stop staring at Dave staring down at him. “Something like that,” he says.

Dave snorts. He turns slightly so that he’s up on his knees on the couch, legs on either side of Dirk’s and hands dropping down on either side of Jake’s waist so that he’s hovering just inches over Dirk. “No more ‘witty’ lines, huh.”

Dirk attempts to shrug. It doesn’t really work, not with Dave and Jake both surrounding him like this, holding him close and still and vulnerable. “Don’t need the bricks once you’re inside the house,” he says. He thinks he says it, anyway, because Jake turns and kisses his neck as he finishes, beard scratchy but lips impossibly soft, and the end of his sentence turns into a choked off moan. 

“Right,” Dave says. He grins up at Jake for a moment before pulling his face back to neutral and bringing a hand down to grab the waistband of Dirk’s sweatpants. “Would it be stupid to call myself the Big Bad Wolf?”

“I’ll huff and puff something,” Dirk offers, and Jake’s laugh is warm and close against his back, in his ear, straight down to his cunt. 

“Yeah, we’ll get to that,” Dave says, like a promise, like a threat, almost, and slips his hand under the waistband of both Dirk’s sweatpants and his boxers. His hands aren’t as big as Jake’s, but he clearly knows what he’s doing with them as he nudges Dirk’s thighs apart and slips a finger into Dirk’s cunt. It goes in almost embarrassingly easy with how wet Dirk is, but the feeling is abrupt and foreign and Dirk chokes on a gasp. 

There’s a split second, quick as a breath or the revolution of a tire, where Dirk entertains the notion that he is, in fact, out of his depth. That despite months upon months of pining and preparation, he didn’t actually know what he was getting into with this, with the brother that’s raised him and his boyfriend. That every idea he had about how this was going to go was completely wrong.

Dave crooks his finger, Dirk squirms against Jake’s hold, the second doesn’t pass, exactly, but it settles down in the back of Dirk’s mind. 

“Dave, plum, what do you say we move this hullabaloo to the bedroom?” Jake asks. “This position is getting to be a right sight uncomfortable, not to mention the monopoly you have on the view.”

Dave slides his finger out, easy as he can be, and runs it just along Dirk’s clit. Dirk bucks up into Jake’s strong arms and makes a noise he doesn’t recognize. Dave smiles. “Yeah, we should probably get going, get this shit a little more traditional. You got him?”

“Easy as pie,” Jake says. 

“I can walk,” Dirk protests, although Dave’s hand is still between his legs and he’s not entirely sure if it’s true.

Dave shrugs. “Cuter this way.”

He pulls his hand out of Dirk’s pants, idly wiping it on his own jeans, and stands. Jake does some complicated maneuver and is suddenly standing with Dirk in his arms, cradled like a bride or a baby, like something precious. Dirk grabs onto his shirt and holds tight, uses his strength - because he’s not weak, okay, he goes to the gym and he runs and he’s not just some useless teenager - to pull himself up towards Jake’s mouth.

Jake leans down and meets him halfway, twisting the hand under Dirk’s knees to grab his ass as their lips meet, and Dirk squirms, gasps. Kissing Dave was… amazing. But kissing Jake? His beard is scratchy, his hands and chest firm, his teeth just this side of sharp when they bite and tug at Dirk’s bottom lip. Dirk whines softly and pulls himself as close as he can get, safe in the knowledge that Jake won’t drop him. “Oh, Christ,” Jake mutters against Dirk’s lips. “Fuck.”

Dirk whines again. Jake sounds ridiculously turned on, and knowing that he at least contributed to that is a head rush like no other. That’s more of what he expected from this - he’s in charge, he’s calling the shots, he’s bringing Dave and Jake to their knees.

So he’s a little off. No big deal. This works too, especially when Dave steps close and does something that has Jake moaning right into Dirk’s mouth, all loud and helpless

“Alright, alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Dave murmurs. 

Reluctantly, Dirk pulls away from Jake and drops his head onto his shoulder, nuzzling as close as he can get and reveling in the feeling of Jake’s muscles moving under and around him as he’s carried to Dave’s room. 

“Where should we put him?” Jake asks. 

Dirk nips at Jake’s neck, suddenly not trusting his voice to be heard. Jake’s breath hitches, but the only acknowledgment he gives is to Dave, who says, “Just drop him on the bed.”

Jake does, and Dirk falls onto the still-made duvet with a soft  _ thump.  _ He regains his bearings quickly, stretches out and works his way up into a sitting position against the headboard. “So,” he says, “how are we doing this? Hate to admit it, nut I’ve never actually done the whole threesome thing before.”

Dave snorts. “Who said this is a group discussion, kid?”   


Dirk stares at him for a moment. Dave is standing at the side of the bed, arms crossed, still fully clothed in his usual shades, white button-down, black jeans, and unreadable poker face. He arches an eyebrow when he notices Dirk’s stare, but he says nothing.

Dirk turns to Jake, who’s standing just behind and to the left of Dave. He’s also still fully clothed in his usual polo and khakis, a small smile teasing at his face, but there’s something Dirk doesn’t recognize and can’t place in his usually warm eyes. 

“What do you mean?” Dirk asks carefully. 

Dave doesn’t move. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that we’re not on equal ground here,” he says. “But don’t worry about it. We’re all having fun, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

Dirk swallows, wincing at how clearly audible the sound is in the otherwise quiet room. That tight feeling is back in his chest, in his gut, saying that something is wrong, that the men standing over him aren’t who he assumed they are, that he’s stepped too far, but he pushes it down. No. Dave’s right. This is what he wanted. 

“Yeah,” Dirk finally says. “I’m still askin’, though, how are we doing this?”

Dave turns towards Jake, and they exchange a glance. “I fuck your cunt, he fucks your mouth?” Dave offers. 

Dirk opens his mouth to answer, but Jake beats him to the punch. “Sounds like a right splendid plan to me.”

Without leaving room for another word, Jake steps forward and takes Dirk by the shoulders, flipping him over so that his face is shoved down into the pillows. Dirk quickly turns his head to the side so that he can breathe and frowns. Sure, they’ve made it clear that he’s not in charge, but he’d still like to have  _ some  _ input, and he’d like to be able to actually fucking see the two men that he’s spent so much time trying to ogle. 

“Wait,” Dirk says, pushing himself up onto one elbow and starting to turn around. He makes it halfway before Dave’s slender hand presses down into the middle of his bare back.

“No, stay there,” Dave says, quietly but sternly. It’s the most authoritative Dirk’s ever heard him sound, and it runs through him like a shock. It shouldn’t be hot. It isn’t hot. 

But Dirk finds himself clenching his thighs together, just a bit, before he tries to roll over again. “ _ Wait _ ,” he insists, but Dave just presses his hand down harder. “Dave, listen to me.”

“Yeah, that sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Dave says. Dirk almost doesn’t recognize his voice. It’s not so much a sharp dagger as the blunt feeling of pavement, and both it and the feeling of Jake’s fingers teasing at the base of Dirk’s spine make him shiver. “Listen to me, Dirk, stop it. That’s inappropriate, Dirk. You’re making me and Jake uncomfortable,  _ Dirk _ .”

He punctuates his last sentence by digging his nails into the skin of Dirk’s back for just a second, and Dirk’s hands scramble uselessly for a hold in the duvet. He could push Dave off, he could get up and run, he can feel the adrenaline he would need starting to pump through his veins as he realizes that this is not a safe place to be.

But when he braces himself, Jake’s hands come down on his wrists. His presence is warm and overwhelming, reaching across the bed and over Dirk, pressing his wrists down into the pillows next to his face. 

“I don’t know that an escape is quite going to work for you, there,” Jake says. “Now, are we going to have spend this time keeping you here, or are you going to hold up to all of those pretty little promises you’ve made?”

Dirk takes a deep breath and throws all of his weight to the left, away from Jake and towards the door. He gets nowhere but out of breath. His heart is pounding, he can’t see where Dave is beyond the feeling of the hand still on his back, and Jake’s grip tightens just a bit. 

“Answer him, Dirk,” Dave says. His teeth are suddenly at the nape of Dirk’s neck, just below his hair, and he bites down. It’s not as hard as Dirk would’ve expected, given the situation, and especially not when he lets his body sag into the feeling. That’s still within the realm of expectation, isn’t it?

A long, shaky breath, then Dirk says, “You can - I’ll stay.”

He hates himself for it, almost. His body is covered in sweat and phantom aches, like he’s coming down with a horrible bastardization of the flu, and the moment he lets the muscles at the back of his neck relax, his entire body drops down into the bed.

“That’s a good chum,” Jake says. He gives Dirk’s wrists a final squeeze before letting them go. The shadow of his body disappears, but his whereabouts aren’t a mystery for long. His hands reappear almost instantly at the waistband of Dirk’s sweatpants, and Dirk can’t help it. He jerks his hips away the best he can, frantic, feeling like a cornered animal. He wants it, he does, but he doesn’t know if he can take it in the way they’re going to give. Jake hums, disappointed. “Now, Dirk, what did we just talk about?”

Dirk closes his eyes. Jake begins to slide his sweatpants down, easy as can be. “Just… take it slow,” he whispers.

It’s almost a shock when Dave acknowledges that he’s spoken. “We’ll see,” he says, still in that uncanny valley, unfamiliar voice. And that’s what makes it worse, Dirk thinks. That this isn’t some crime of passion, it’s not that they’ve both been so overtaken by Dirk’s - seventeen year old, fuck, what was he  _ thinking  _ \- charms that they can’t resist. No, this is them wanting to make Dirk  _ hurt.  _

The realization has Dirk struggling again, despite his word, Saint Peter and his denials pushed further down into the mattress, his sweatpants and boxers discarded. He barely hears them hit the floor over the pounding of blood in his head. 

The bed dips down on Dirk’s right side as Dave climbs onto it. He swings a leg over Dirk and sits down on his back, straddling him on his knees. He’s naked, at least from the waist down. Dirk hates that that makes his heart speed up. He wonders if Dave’s handprint is still visible on his back. 

“Shh,” Dave murmurs, reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of Dirk’s hair behind his ear. “This is going to be a lot better when you just let it happen, dude.”

It should be comforting. It’s not, and everyone in the room knows it. Jake’s hands slide up the backs of Dirk’s thighs and settle on his ass, squeezing. “Got a mighty fine ass back here,” he says.

Dave laughs. The hand still resting in Dirk’s hair tugs, just enough to be painful. “Oh, and he knows it, too, with those fuckin’ jeans. Shit. It’s not as good as yours, but do you think it would be too much for his first time?”

Dirk goes still. Fuck. No, no, no, they can’t, they can’t, this is  bordering on too much as it is, fuck, he knows himself and he knows that they can’t. “No, I mean, yes, that’s too much,” he says, and he’s raising his arms, trying to get some sort of momentum, kicking his legs up in a wild hope that he’ll hit Jake, anything, anything.

But Dave leans close over him, presses his wrists back into the bed easily. His dick rubs against Dirk’s back. He’s hard. It should be hot. 

Jake grabs onto Dirk’s flailing ankles and pulls them apart as far as they’ll go, bordering on a little further than that, even, and Dirk’s face goes hot. He feels peeled open, exposed, like his intestines have been knocked out of him and strewn onto the pavement for everyone to see.

“We really should’ve drugged his dinner after all,” Jake says. “Wasn’t expecting him to put up this much of a scrum.”   
  
Dirk’s heart stops, restarts.  _ Drug _ him? The man on top of him, who’s been raising him for longer than Dirk can remember, who’s slowly, casually grinding his dick along the line of Dirk’s spine, was going to  _ drug  _ him?

“I know, especially after saying he wanted this for so long,” Dave says. He releases one of Dirk’s wrists and threads his hand through Dirk’s hair again, yanking Dirk’s head up for a moment like he’s scrutinizing it before tugging it back down. “But, hey, I guess this is just what happens when you think you want something you don’t understand, all diving into the fuckin’ deep end before you even know what water wings are.”

Dirk bristles at the insult and the sting in his scalp. He wants to reach up and punch Dave with his free arm, but Jake’s hands are moving from his ass to his cunt and he doesn’t want to do anything that’ll make them mad. 

“Did you want to open him up, plum, or should I?” Jake asks. His finger skates over Dirk’s cunt, light but impossible to ignore. Dirk swallows hard. His neck is starting to hurt from the way it’s turned, but he can’t turn it the other way around with Dave’s grip tight in his hair. 

Dave leans down again, scrapes his teeth along the top of Dirk’s ear. “I’ll take it, if you don’t mind,” he says, and his voice is thick with a fake Southern belle accent, like he’s playing a  _ game _ , and Jake laughs.

“Time for a switcheroo, then,” Jake says. He squeezes a handful of Dirk’s ass, laughing again when Dirk groans from behind clenched teeth, and the weight on top of Dirk lifts. 

He’s about to make a break for it. He knows a chance when he sees one, but when he braces himself to move, the bed dips on the opposite side from before. Jake, heavier than Dave but just as hard, settles down onto Dirk’s back. It knocks the wind out of him along with the chance for escape, but at least, thanks for small mercies, Dirk is able to close his legs just a bit as Dave steps between them. 

“Not bad, kid,” Dave says. His first finger slips in as easily as before. Dirk swallows down a wave of disgust with himself for being so fucking wet before reminding himself that no, no,  _ no,  _ he wanted this. He wants this. He just… has to try a new tactic to make them listen, that’s all.

Dirk inhales shakily and is relieved when the exhale is a bit more steady. “Dave, you’re not like this,” he says. “Just - slow down, okay?”

Dave laughs and adds a second finger at the same time. It’s too much too soon, and Dirk gasps. “It’s funny that you think you know what I’m like,” Dave says. “Dirk. Stop squirming around so much, goddamn. You know damn well how good I am at making personalities, what makes you think I don’t have one for you?”

“I-” Dirk starts, but he falters when he realizes that he has no idea what he was going to say. He does know that Dave is excellent at becoming different people when he wants or needs to be, he just didn’t know that he was someone that Dave had to pretend for too. He feels betrayed, raw, sliced open as Dave adds a third finger. His touch is almost business-like. He’s not looking for the spot Dirk has never been able to find on his own, not being tender or sensual, just stretching Dirk open as efficiently as he can so that he can get his dick wet quicker.

It’s the kind of thing Dirk finds hot. He opens his mouth to let out a groan only to find that he’s already keening, soft whimpers falling into the air in perfect time with the movement of Dave’s thrusts. He swallows hard. “Well, Jake’s not-”

Jake laughs, a deep belly chuckle that shakes Dirk from the inside out. “You barely know me there, chum. I’m awful sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

He doesn’t sound sorry at all. Dirk throws all of his weight to the side again, desperation rising like bile in his throat. The air in the room feels hot and claustrophobic, and it feels like it’s keeping Dirk in place just as much as Jake is. 

“Whoa, now, keep it steady,” Jake says. “And here I’d thought you’d settled down all nice, too.”

Dirk closes his eyes. Dave’s fingers are warm, slender, and there’s a small part of his brain that still wants to be excited about the fact that they belong to his brother before he remembers that he doesn’t really know who that is, apparently. But at least the stretch is aching less. It feels less like he’s being yanked apart and more like a slow pull, and Dave slips his fingers out and says, “Yeah, I think he’s about ready, you wanna flip him?”   
  
Dirk forces himself to breathe in. They’re giving him another chance. 

“Right-o,” Jake says, and there he is, his weight easing off of Dirk, his leg lifting up and over and - and Dirk is rolling, his foot collides with something that he prays is Dave’s foot and then hits the floor, he’s on his feet and scrambling for the door, no plan but old, animalistic instinct, and -

A hand grabs him by the hair. The change in momentum sends Dirk stumbling backwards, and the sharp yank makes him cry out in pain. He barely recognizes his voice. “Let me  _ go _ ,” he insists desperately.

“You just refuse to get the point, huh?” Dave asks. His breath is hot in Dirk’s ear, his hand tightening in Dirk’s hair, pulling Dirk’s head back towards him. “You don’t have the phone, you don’t get to call the shots.”

The next thing Dirk hears is a pained yelp he realizes is his own a moment after he hits the floor facedown. Dave shoved him down hard, and the foot he immediately plants on Dirk’s back leaves no room for question. 

“Do you think we should put him on the bed, or would that just be a right sight more trouble than it’s worth?” Jake asks. 

Dave pauses for a moment. His foot pushes down into Dirk’s back when Dirk tries to squirm. “Yeah, probably more effort than it’s worth,” he says. “Although I’d certainly fuckin’ hope that he’s learned his lesson by now.”

He inflects it like a question, and there’s a beat. Dirk doesn’t answer. He’s still catching his breath from when he hit the floor, and his entire body feels like one panicked ache as the adrenaline starts to seep away and give way to resignation. 

It seems like his still silence is answer enough, though, because when Jake crouches down and grabs Dirk by the shoulder, all he does is flip him onto his back. The carpet scratches against his skin, but he can’t bring himself to care. His head is pounding in perfect time with his heart as Dave kneels down in front of him and pushes his legs apart. Dave’s not wearing a condom, but Dirk’s been very loudly on birth control since his crush started.

Dave’s hands drop down to the carpet on either side of Dirk’s chest, and he leans down close as he pushes in. Prep aside, Dirk feels like he’s being torn apart. His back arches up off the floor, his hands claw at the carpet, something like a moan tears its way out of his throat. Dave doesn’t wait for him to adjust or even breathe before he starts to move. At least the view of Dave, clothes discarded, shades pushed up on top of his head, mouth dropping open and eyes closed, is what Dirk’s been dreaming of for months. 

Of course, because small mercies are transient things, Dirk’s view is obscured half a second when later when Jake crouches down, kneeling directly over Dirk’s face, his dick admittedly huge and pressing up against Dirk’s lips. Dirk doesn’t move.

“Now, c’mon, chap, I’m sure this isn’t rocket science,” Jake says impatiently. 

Dirk doesn’t move. Everything about being fucked -  _ fuck _ , he’s being fucked by Dave, it’s everything he’s wanted and he’s nauseous from the shoulders down - is too much already, he can’t fathom trying to suck a dick at the same time. Jake gives him a moment, a small mercy in the form of hope, before he reaches out and pinches Dirk’s nose shut. “Open up,” he says firmly.

Dirk tries to hold out as best as he can, but he’s never been good at holding his breath. It comes out in a rush when he opens his mouth, and Jake slides his dick in without a moment’s hesitation. 

It’s too much. There’s no way around it. It’s too much, too fast, too overwhelming. Dirk can already feel drool collecting in and sliding out of the corners of his mouth, and he closes his eyes and lets his jaw go slack. Maybe if he just - shuts down, blanks out, it’ll be over faster. 

“Watch your teeth, now,” Jake says, “and if you puke on my cock, we’ll have words.”

Dirk doesn’t acknowledge him. Jake huffs out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and starts to thrust all the way down into Dirk’s fucking throat. Dirk gags, there’s no way around it, his eyes flying open as he chokes and splutters, but he doesn’t puke, and Jake doesn’t stop. 

Dave hasn’t stopped either. His thrusts are getting more and more aggressive, pushing Dirk’s entire body against the carpet so harshly that he knows he’ll have rug burn when everything’s said and done, and he times them in perfect harmony with Jake’s. All of Dirk’s senses are overwhelmed with both of them - Jake’s torso blocking out his sight, the scent of sex and sweat in his nose, the taste of Jake in his mouth, moans Dirk can’t even pick apart anymore ringing in his ears, and everything about Dave overwhelming every one of his nerves. It’s what he wanted, it’s what he jerks off to at night. It’s what he wants. It’s what he wants. It’s what he wants.

Jake comes first. It’s hot, salty, slick down Dirk’s throat. He swallows without realizing what he’s doing, lets Jake stay in him, panting, until Dave follows several minutes later. The feeling of his cunt being filled is one Dirk can’t describe. It makes something in his ribcage seize up. 

Slowly, dragging against Dirk’s sore, swollen lips, Jake pulls out and hauls his body off to the side. Dirk doesn’t open his eyes. Dave pulls out as well, his breathing loud in the otherwise quiet room. Dirk doesn’t open his eyes. A hand Dirk is too tired to identify slides between his legs and rubs at his clit, efficiently and without fanfare, until he comes with a soft groan. Dirk doesn’t open his eyes. 

Another hand wipes at Dirk’s cheeks, dragging the wetness across his skin rather than drying it off. Dirk doesn’t know when he started crying. 

Jake slides his arm around Dirk and lifts him to a sitting position, propping him up against the wall and holding him close. Dirk doesn’t protest, not then or when Dave slides up to his other side, kissing the top of his head like he’s a doll. “That live up to your expectations?” Dave asks. 

Dirk’s body aches like a bruise, like it’s been split open. The carpet under him feels like hot pavement. The come and slick leaking from his cunt feels like blood. When he lifts a hand, slowly, to touch his mouth, it feels like nothing. 

**Author's Note:**

> CW: There are repeated imagery/descriptions of a dead turtle, which are mildly graphic. Dirk is 17 and repeatedly harasses (much older) Dave and Jake about his attraction to them until they rape him. Throughout the rape, Dirk repeatedly tries to convince himself that he wants it, and Dave and Jake act like the rape is Dirk's fault because he wouldn't leave them alone. Stay safe <3
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
